At Play
by SineTimore
Summary: Martha's new play is opening and Castle & Beckett have to be there...unfortunately. *now a completed two-shot*
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **There is cursing below. That's not really allowed on ABC, so they won't hire me.

**AN:** Happy Friday, all!

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_**At Play**_

Act I

She stepped deliberately out of his oversized shower, a billow of steam clinging to her dewy form. He stood shirtless at the sink just feet away, steadfast in his resolve to resist whatever the hell she had intended with that obviously calculated flash of leg. Yes, he certainly had noticed. Curtain up on Martha Rodgers' new play was just ninety minutes away, he reminded himself silently and through clenched jaw. They'd never make it. They had to make it. They'd promised. The sudden urge to wring his mother's neck overwhelmed him.

"Remind me to buy bigger towels this weekend…or tomorrow…or on the way to the theater," he stammered offhandedly, as his hands made one final pass through his thick hair, his eyes on a less than subtle journey up her body and down again. No, there still wasn't enough time. He tried to quickly avert his attention back to the mirror before him; too late, of course, her grin solid proof of her awareness. He felt his body stiffen at her approach, her flowery scent wafting into the space where he stood, defenses already diminished by the sight of her.

"What's wrong, Castle? These towels don't cover enough for your liking?" she teased softly. And, without any immediate words of reply, she continued to play. "Well, I guess we'll need to get you some new ones then, huh?" With the tug of one finger, she loosened the cotton fabric from around her body and let it fall to the floor. She was exquisite- and naked. He placed both hands against the marble counter in order to remain upright as she ran her shower-warm hands across his back and around his belly. On her tiptoes, her breasts pressed firmly against his own bare skin, she rested her chin on his shoulder and gazed as his reflection. "You look handsome," she cooed in flirtatious tone. "Are you entirely certain that we actually need to go to this thing? As I recall from past experience, the audience is dark and she-"

He simply couldn't take it for one more second. "You really need to stop doing that like right now, Detective." He hoped that bringing her job title into it might break the spell, snap him out of it, make it all less fucking impossible to resist. Nope. It backfired wildly, images of her with her various body holsters, her relentless interrogations of perps, her running in those impossibly high heels all flashing like lightning in his brain. "I mean it," he insisted, as he took one step forward and spun around to face her. "There's no time!"

"I'd be more than happy to stop, Castle, if you tell me exactly what I'm doing that's got you so flustered," she replied with feigned innocence. "Oh, and I think that you should probably call me _Kate_ when I'm wrapped around you naked, you know, like last night," she taunted.

"You just…you need to stop smelling like that and looking like that and feeling like that…around me…right now. I can't-"

"Too much woman for you, huh, Ricky?" she chuckled. "If that's how you want it then I guess I'll go and get dressed. Perhaps you should finish doing the same? It isn't very fair to parade that around if you aren't gonna share, you know." She turned and headed for the closet, leaving him to agonizingly watch her walk away- and to, once again, curse his mother to high heaven.

A moment later, as he buttoned the dark plum shirt around his body, he heard her words emanate from deep inside the closet. "I suppose under the circumstances, Castle, I should forewarn you that I don't have any panties left here to wear tonight. I hope that's not going to be too much of a problem for you."

This was certain to be the longest eighty minute play of his life. "Thanks for the warning," he muttered sarcastically.

Shit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Ditto, ditto, ditto. Same, same, same. No.

**AN: **Just a thanks tonight to all of those who followed and/or dropped me a note about Act I. I write these stories for me but you all make it so fun to share. Happy weekend!

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_**At Play**_

Act II

Every second of the slow spin reveal of her chosen ensemble, every inch of the walk behind her downstairs to the waiting car, every mile of the ride on the seat next to her to the theater was entirely torturous. Her candor with regards to _The Unfortunate Lingerie Shortage of 2013_ certainly hadn't helped matters any. Mostly because he couldn't convince himself, no matter how hard he tried, that it was actually _un_fortunate. Of course, his mind was already long gone before that fuel hit the fire. And, that's really what she was- a fire on his brain, on his heart, on his skin, on his everything- in spite of all of his resistance and the wildly inopportune timing.

He climbed out of the car ahead of her, the cool evening air a somewhat gentle and positively welcome slap to the face. He turned and extended her a hand, which she reciprocated with a demure yet simultaneously wanton "Thank you" and a kiss to his cheek. She wrapped her fingers tightly, possessively around his and pulled him in close, her lips finding his ear. "I love it when you don't shave," she purred. "It makes my lips tingle." And as they made their way into the theater through the crowd gathered on the sidewalk, her in the lead, he too felt a tingle, one certainly not appropriate for seat 7A.

Their quicker than expected arrival at the theater had afforded them adequate time for a drink before the show. A glass of wine might help him to relax, he thought, perhaps help to calm his overactive brain a bit, because she was still wearing that damn dress that hugged everything and all he could think about was how she was wearing nothing else. She really didn't play fair.

They stood separate from the others, off to the side, in hopes that his well-known face wouldn't draw unwanted attention. He certainly wasn't in any state of mind for that tonight. He could barely string two sentences together, let alone play nicey nice with gushing admirers. "Would you like to go in and sit down?" he asked, attempting to pull her attention away from the collection of people before them. "Kate? Are you-"

"I wonder, Castle," she interrupted, "how many women in this room wish that they were me tonight, on your arm, just waiting for these eighty minutes to be over so they can take you home."

"That's-I…" he stammered.

She held her hand out open and flat in front of him, her face inquisitive yet entirely knowing.

"It's just- I'm sorry, what?" he mumbled in confusion.

The wine had obviously not helped.

"Tickets, Castle. Let's go," she chuckled. When he finally presented them, she brushed his hand lightly and winked.

He definitely needed to sit down. Immediately.

The lights in the house dimmed moments later, each of them in their respective seat, her comfortably, him not so much. She had immediately placed her hand on his thigh upon being seated by the usher- and nowhere near his knee where he would have felt safe…well, safer. No, her long, slender fingers found a home in his lap, drawing slow and methodical circles around and around, stopping only when she laughed at the performers or attended to an errant hair. He wanted desperately to run his hands through that hair. Truly, the play was awful. He had no idea what the hell his mother was thinking. Guess that ran in the family.

She leaned in to him once and asked for the time, thirty minutes having passed. "You smell good," she whispered as she pulled back away, the grin on her face obvious to him even in profile. When her hand suddenly squeezed his thigh, it elicited a sound from him that he could only try to cough around to conceal and a rush of heat through his body that he felt from head to toe. His hand came down on top of hers in involuntary reaction and they simultaneously turned to look at each other, neither wanting to be the first to break.

As the lights came up on intermission, their gaze lingered and their hands remained unmoved. "Do you maybe want to go for a walk or use the restroom or something (her inflection implied precisely what _something_ was), Castle?" she inquired teasingly. It had to be most obvious to her, her hand resting where it was, that he couldn't possibly stand up to do anything at all at that moment. She was fucking cruel. Exquisite and cruel. "Awww, it's okay, Ricky," she began, "just hold on a bit longer and I promise you'll be rewarded for your perfectly gentlemanly behavior. Who knows? Your mother might not be the only one getting a standing O tonight," she taunted mercilessly. "Or, perhaps a position of your own choosing."

Forty minutes of this goddamn play to go.

Shit.


End file.
